


Never Learned to Give Up

by dirtyprettythings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassins AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyprettythings/pseuds/dirtyprettythings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrote a short fluffy-ish thing, an Assassin AU, based on this prompt:</p><p>'I’ve tried to kill you dozens of times and you are still alive, how on earth are you still alive we practically know each other now.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Learned to Give Up

Steve Rogers, codename Captain, is having the worst day. Pinching the bridge of his nose he grabs blindly for the coffee cup on the table and glances at the worksheet on his computer. It’s Friday afternoon and the time is running out.  Nothing was working. Nothing. Steve Rogers was a CIA Black Ops operative, specialised in assassinations, taking out whoever the government deemed dangerous or inconvenient enough. There wasn’t an official title for his work, and he was fine with that. This assignment however, which was given a special treatment and marked immediately as urgent, was not going according to his meticulous plans.

The guy refused to die. It was as simple as that. Or, to be more accurate, he was impossible to kill. Rogers stares at the information that had come with the assignment, and his own notes he’d made during the two weeks tailing the target. James Barnes, ex-CIA asset, codename Winter Soldier (Steve had raised his eyebrows at that) was considered a liability. After spending years deep undercover, working for the CIA, living a successful double life in Russia, Barnes had been brought home and, after a careful evaluation, sent to an early retirement. What the problem actually was, Rogers didn’t know, he didn’t need to. But there was something, hidden between the lines. The man was capable of anything, living the perfect lie in the most dangerous circumstances for ten years, and that made him unpredictable. Barnes knew too much. And, Steve thought, after following the man to his regular visits to a psychologist, maybe too damaged to be trustworthy. Whatever the reason, Steve was beginning to understand why this assignment had been given to him, the top asset of the ops team. 

During the past two weeks, Rogers had started to see patterns; they made perfect sense to Steve, a man of strict lifestyle and vigorous routines himself. Barnes woke up every morning, went for a run, got a coffee from a nearby coffee shop and walked home. Sometimes Barnes sat down, sipping his coffee in peace while reading the morning paper. Steve stayed in the back watching, looking for a weak spot. There didn’t seem to be any. Barnes always sat with his back to the wall, scanning the crowds, keeping his eye on both front and back door. The coffee shop was a no-go for Steve.

He had tried to orchestrate a hit-and-run once, taking a black SUV without plates, parking it near the exit of the park he knew Barnes would use. His idea was to simply run over the man - it had worked perfectly before, even in New York’s terrible traffic, if you knew the shortcuts and had a convenient parking garage close by to dump the car afterwards. Sure enough, the man had jogged out of the park, glancing around to make sure the driveway was free. For a moment Steve had enjoyed the view, the grey track pants hugging Barnes’ ass in the most perfect way. Captain was, however, not a man to be distracted during a mission, so he veered into the traffic and hit the gas. It was a perfect plan, perfect execution. The only problem was that just before hitting Barnes the man turned around staring straight through the windshield at Steve and made an insane leap, twisting his body to a perfect flip. Barnes used the hood of the car to push himself into the air, vaulting sideways across the hood, sliding gracefully to the side of the car. Needless to say, Steve was speechless. When the car finally came to a stop, Barnes was nowhere to be found - the man seemed to have disappeared into thin air. 

During his investigation Steve learned that James “Bucky” Barnes took his mother to the same restaurant, an Italian place called Sergio’s, every other week. Deemed the perfect place for a hit by Steve,he sat in the back, waiting. Hitman style execution in an Italian restaurant became the only option, as tailing the man for a week, looking for a clear shot from the rooftops, Steve had had enough. No matter where he positioned himself, Barnes seemed to be aware of the danger. He stayed beneath the trees, sat outside under canvases, surrounding himself with civilians. Barnes never took shortcuts, walked among the crowds and even ran in changing tempos. Shooting him from afar, no matter how good Steve actually was, turned out to be impossible. Hitting a civilian by mistake wasn’t an option. Poisoning his food was just ridiculous, so a shot to the back of the head, at close range, seemed appropriate. Crude, but effective. That turned out to be not successful at all. The day Steve was waiting in the restaurant, Barnes walked in with ten other people, celebrating his mother’s birthday. All Steve could do was eat his pasta (which was delicious) while watching from a distance as Barnes kept entertaining the crowd all the while making sure his mother was happy. Steve found that kind of endearing. _Fuck this mission._

 _Kill him, get rid of the body, file a report, move on._

Barnes’ apartment was a bust as well. To Steve’s surprise, it wasn’t filled with high-tech alarms, and he slipped in easily while Barnes was visiting his psychiatrist. This motherfucker needed to go. With a bang. Steve placed two motion-sensor bombs in the apartment. One in the bedroom and one in the living room. 

The flat was neat, lacking any personal memorabilia or pictures. Steve scanned through the bookshelves, finding they had similar tastes in sci-fi and fantasy. Barnes seemed to enjoy stories filled with vast worlds and complex characters. There was a separate section for art books, which Steve made a note of. Captain was known for his artistic abilities, a desire to someday retire and dedicate himself to painting. On his free-time Steve usually sat in museums or drew his comic (this he didn’t mention to anyone, but he loved it okay?). Barnes had a bunch of thick comic books from Sandman to Watchmen, but also guide books to galleries and restaurants in Italy and Japan, and row after row of poetry. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing a highly skilled and dangerous CIA operative would be into, but Steve was intrigued. Hot and smart and into arts? _Step away from the bookcase Rogers_ , he said to himself When exactly had he started thinking of the target as hot?

To be honest, Steve wasn’t BLIND. Barnes was hot in a way that seemed effortless. Brown hair tied loosely in a bun, those grey sharp eyes always moving, that trained powerful body covered in tight jeans and t-shirts, always wearing a jacket or long sleeves. Steve wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Tailing after Barnes he could see the glances following the man, the flirtatious way the waiters (men and women) kept leaning in while taking an order. Too bad, Steve had thought, that something so pretty had to be destroyed.  
But the man seemed to be indestructible as well. The bombs in his apartment never went off. Barnes entered the apartment and then. Nothing. Dead silence. Lights went out, indicating Barnes had gone to bed, and Steve was left sitting with zero results in the apartment across the street.

_The fucker was impossible to kill._

Until. After following the man around for two weeks, losing patience, Steve found his way in. That was why he was currently pinching the bridge of his nose, drinking coffee and scanning his notes on a Friday afternoon with desperation. After museums, a poetry slam in a hipster bar that served only vegetable juices, after sitting on rooftops, setting bombs, running in the park and watching the man day and night, there had been a conversation that gave him an opportunity.

Barnes had a friend who’d arrived in the city for the weekend. Wanting to party, a redhead named Natasha had called Barnes, demanding to be taken to a gay bar and quote “get trashed”. This Steve could use. Hydra, the place they had chosen, was big, loud and filled with men and women in different stages of intoxication. Several exits, dark corners, two large bathrooms, a back alley - the choices were endless. Even Barnes couldn’t possibly cover all his bases in an environment like this. The headache however, was due to the fact that Steve Rogers, a dedicated and disciplined operative, was no stranger to gay bars. In fact, he’d spent a great deal of time in them, voluntarily, in his 20’s. Remembering the loud music, tight clothes and hookups made him uneasy. This was something he didn’t want to think about, something he had pushed in the back of his mind a long time ago. But this was the best option available, perfect setting. 

Not wanting to stand out, he opted for tight jeans that hugged his ass perfectly, cringing internally. The purpose was to blend in, not seem like a man on a mission. Well, his kind of mission anyway. He had no illusions about how he looked; he worked damn hard for his body, but only in order to make it the perfect weapon, a tool to be used. In this case, the weapon of choice seemed to work best while clad in tight fabrics. Putting on a black t-shirt that emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he slipped on black Converse sneakers and headed out the door. 

The club is noisy, music pumping too loudly for Steve’s liking. Barnes was easy to locate due to the fact that a redhead dancing on a table with another woman and a man was giving a sexy show to anyone who was looking. And, people were looking. Barnes is lounging on the couch, a smirk on his full lips and a drink in hand. Steve situates himself directly into Barnes’ line of sight - he’s sure Barnes had never seen his face, not even during the unfortunate not-quite-hit-and-run, thanks to the tinted windscreen. It’s a long shot, to be actually tempting enough to get Barnes’ attention, but this was by far the easiest way to keep an eye on him and wait for an opening. Maybe follow the man to the toilets, push him inside a cubicle and stab him in the neck. Drag him to the back alley and shoot him or push a blade onto his back in the crowd or on the dance floor. Then simply walk away while the panic starts spreading. 

Or he could make it look like an accident, which was always preferred. Alcohol poisoning, a random stabbing in the alley, a robbery gone wrong on his way home. Steve’s mind is filled with possibilities. This was the night. He is sure of it. 

_The fucker is looking straight at him._

James Barnes is walking across the bar, jeans hanging low on his hips, eyes sweeping the crowd but landing sharply, cat-like, firmly on Steve. Steve keeps his cool, he’s never lost his nerves - made of steel and all that. He wasn’t a professional for nothing.  
Waiting for Barnes’ opening line, a knife to the guts or maybe a gun sliding between his ribs, Steve watches while the man sits down on the stool next to him.

“You always keep this close watch on people, or should I be flattered?”, Barnes cocks his head closer to Steve, in order for the man to actually hear the words over the music.    
Steve, sitting perfectly still, slides his right hand to grab the knife he had hidden in the back of his jeans. “You noticed huh?”. Steve wants to keep things vague - maybe Barnes meant tonight, and his cover isn’t actually blown. 

 “Well, a guy has to be kinda flattered you know”, Barnes was now inches away, close enough for his body to radiate delicious heat through Steve’s thin shirt. Raising an eyebrow he continues, “You could just ask me out. No need to break into my apartment to get to know me. You’ve seen my mom, know I like museums and that I like to jog”.  
Steve freezes. Hand on the knife he stands up slowly, turning so they are side by side, leaning against the bar. Just two guys chatting, elbows rubbing, nothing to see here. 

“Black Ops right?”, Barnes states, making a note of the way Steve is hiding the blade behind his back. “I mean, don’t you think this wooing thing has gone on long enough. When are you going to make your move?” Steve stares at the man, not knowing if he’s joking or not. Barnes is impossibly close. And beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. Which seems hardly fair since Steve had already come to the conclusion that James Barnes is the most interesting man he’s met in a long time. Maybe ever. Interesting and capable, dangerous and intelligent, filled with plans to travel and enjoy good food and art. Basically, Barnes was living Steve’s life - the life he wanted. But to be that hot as well? _Truly, fuck this mission._

“I, uh, don’t think making a move while surrounded by civilians is wise right now”, Steve states instead of blurting out his inner monologue. “I always get my man in the end, but I can wait. I’m patient”.  Barnes is biting his bottom lip, dragging his eyes across Steve’s torso. “NOT the kind of move I was thinking, though I know what you mean. After all, I was a company man once too”. And fuck if Steve isn’t ready to forget his mission and everything else and grab that fucker by the front of his shirt right now and bite that lip himself. 

Between a rock and a hard place if Steve has ever seen one, pondering whether to kill or kiss Barnes, a flash of red bursts between the men. Natasha, or Special Agent Romanoff, as she states flashing her ID, grabs Steve’s hand in one fluid movement, takes the knife and pushes him back with a hard punch to the chest. Not to be outdone, Steve quickly pulls out a gun and shows it to the woman, while keeping it hidden from the surrounding civilians.

“Careful there, Agent Romanoff” Steve whispers, “I have my orders and I really don’t care about who’s friends with whom in this scenario”. 

Romanoff rolls her eyes, tossing a smartphone to Steve. He catches it one handed while holding the gun pointed to her. “Check the data, it’s solid”, Romanoff says with a bite to her tone, “you’re a hard man to reach when you go on a mission”. Steve checks the phone, sees the official mission files and orders for Agent Romanoff to stay with Barnes as long as it takes for the CIA to reach their Black Ops agent. Rogers had gone so deep underground (as ordered) that he was impossible to reach before the target was eliminated. This was standard procedure - once things were set in motion the asset didn’t stop until the target was down. This time however, Steve learns while checking his own phone and logging onto the server, James Barnes had managed to talk himself a deal. 

Putting his gun away and backing up slowly Steve indicates the message has been received loud and clear. Agent Romanoff gives him one more stern look and shouts for the bartender to finally get her something proper to drink instead of water.

Barnes hasn’t moved anywhere but is in fact still standing close by, biting his lip. Seeing Steve staring at him, Barnes shrugs his shoulders and tilts his head closer. “So, can we maybe continue from where we were before rudely interrupted, or was your interest purely professional?”. Steve keeps staring, not really understanding what is being said. Because. What. Going from killing someone to flirting with someone within a minute is giving him a whiplash. “Please don’t tell me that all this”, Barnes is gesturing at Steve’s general direction, “is reserved for someone else. Or that you’re really not into this particular person, who’s been wanting to balance the scales a bit. Because you know an awful lot about me. And I only know that you’re incredibly hot and keep missing me maybe on purpose?” Barnes raises one eyebrow while fiddling with the glass in his hands. He looks, well, nervous, and to Steve, it feels weird. This beautiful, skilled man seems nervous to hear if Steve was, what, interested? After tailing him in order to kill him? How had Barnes even noticed him? How did he know who he was? So many questions, which Steve quickly decides are worth asking. Later. For work. 

He grabs Barnes by the grey t-shirt the man is wearing and drags him closer. “If I missed on purpose, and I’m not saying I did Barnes because I never miss”, Steve whispers in his ear, “I think I need to be thoroughly evaluated. By you.” He kisses Barnes, gently, almost afraid this has been a shrewd tactic for the other man all along. It isn’t. Barnes opens his mouth, pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth, while sighing quietly, pulling them closer together. The kiss turns heated in seconds, Steve runs his fingers through the dark hair while Barnes, sighing “Jesus, just call me Bucky” between kisses, grabs Steve’s ass. 

“First thing you need to know about me”, Steve gasps while pulling away from the kiss, “is that I don’t do one night stands, ahem anymore, and I don’t do public groping. Since it’s much better in private”. 

Barnes smirks, sliding his fingers between Steve’s and pushes the man forward. “Lead the way agent, you already know where I live”.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come find me on Tumblr](http://thedirtyprettythings.tumblr.com/)


End file.
